


...Do You?

by Ricechex



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-22
Updated: 2012-02-22
Packaged: 2017-11-01 15:44:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/358523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ricechex/pseuds/Ricechex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One-shot, spoilers for Series 2, Episode 1. In, "A Scandal in Belgravia," it seems to take John a while to get back to 221B after he hears Sherlock's phone in the abandoned building. Why? My take on what we didn't see while Sherlock contemplated murdering an American.</p>
            </blockquote>





	...Do You?

[ _Ahhhh..._ ]

John's head snapped around.  _Sherlock._  He could hear the footsteps turn. He started to rush over, but Irene's hand went out.

"I don't think so..." She looked at him. "Do you?"

John stood there, fuming for a moment. He'd never before wanted to hit a woman. It was not a comfortable feeling for him.

"He needs me." His voice was a growl as he glared at this woman - The Woman. Hands clenched and unclenched at his side.

"He needs time."

"SHUT UP!" John is shouting. Irene shrinks back a little, her face startled. "He needs me, because you hurt him! You made him think you were dead, made him  _believe_  you were dead! Now he's supposed to be fine with you being alive?"

"I never said he was supposed to fine with it - if you recall, you forced my hand."

"Don't." John walked closer to her then, slowly, as if stalking her. "Don't you try to pin this all on me. You flirted with him - you made him feel something for you."

"He's never mentioned feeling anything."

"That's because he won't admit it - especially to you." Irene smiled. "What?"

"Of course he won't admit it to me. But he won't admit it to you either." John looked at her, confused.

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't you remember?" Her smile was positively Cheshire now. "Can't you still hear his voice when they threatened to shoot you?" John stepped back for a moment, swallowing.

"He..."

"He's in love, Dr. Watson. But not with me." John took several deep breathes in through his mouth. He refused to acknowledge that he was hyperventilating.

"We're flatmates," John said finally.

"He's. In. Love."

"STOP!" John's breathing was ragged. "Just stop, you..."

"When I returned his coat? Your name was the first thing out of his mouth. He trusts you. He knows he's safe with you."

"No..."

"I may fluster him, but as he so kindly pointed out, I take my clothes off to make an impression. He's never had an interest in me."

"You don't see him every day."

"I don't have to."

"So then why-"

"Because I love a challenge." She shrugged. John took another breath.

"I have to go to him."

"Why?" John's lips twisted almost painfully at that.

"Because he's my best friend, and he's hurting right now."

"Doesn't mean-"

"Yes, it DOES!" John turned quickly and punched the instrument panel to his left - BAM! "It matters because I  _said_  it matters!" BAM BAM! "It matters because he means everything to me!" BAM! "It matters because when you care about someone, you don't let them suffer alone!" He whipped back around and looked at her. She looked scared - honestly and legitimately scared - of him right now. And he was glad for it. He wanted her to know she'd been wrong. Wrong to do what she'd done, wrong about how she'd handled things, wrong about him and Sherlock.

Of course, she wasn't wrong about him and Sherlock. True, they may not share a bed; might not kiss each other sweetly and hold hands; might not whisper those words, those powerful words. But they _were_  a couple. They had breakfast and lunch and dinner. John would make tea or coffee and Sherlock would play his violin while the fire crackeled softly or a small breeze blew through the windows. Sherlock would read while John watched crap telly or jotted down notes on whatever their most recent case had been.

They were a couple that had forged their bonds on something deep and real and impenetrable. And it scared John more than he could ever admit.

"Dr. Watson. Please understand - I really was trying to keep him safe."

"You played with his emotions for your own amusement and then you killed yourself off. And now he knows you lied to him. Go on - tell me again just how much you did to keep him safe." Irene looked away at that. "Tell your friend to take me home. Now." He turned away and stormed around the instrument panels, walking back outside.

The car was idling - he slid into the back seat and said nothing at all to the girl next to him. The trip home was silent and tense, but he did not care.

**Author's Note:**

> This one came to me... in the shower.
> 
> I was washing my hair and thinking about a chapter in another Sherlock Fic, and suddenly the question of, "Why did it take John so long to get back to 221B after he figured out Sherlock overheard his conversation with Irene Adler?" Apparently, citrus shampoo is a wonderful stimulant for fic ideas.
> 
> I mean, think about it. Irene has a car pick him up. And while she enjoys dolling out pain, I can't imagine her going to blows with John when he demands to leave and go after his best friend. So why would he only arrive back at the flat after Sherlock had subdued the American? Yes, it makes for an interesting moment of television, but John was EXTREMELY worked up over Irene being alive still, and telling her to talk to Sherlock. He wouldn't just say, "You're right, he needs a moment, I should hold off." He wouldn't have cared what Irene's opinion on the situation was. He'd have rushed to Sherlock's side as fast as he could. He's Doctor John Hamish Watson, after all.
> 
> So this is my imagining of what went down, and why it took John a bit to get back. I hope you enjoy it.


End file.
